Next, slipping down the back stairs leading direct from the _entresol_ into the street, Moche was quickly in the open air. Advancing a few paces along the sidewalk, he whistled and then stood listening. A second later a succession of notes became audible, similar to those formed by the old man’s lips; again advancing, he came upon two fellows lurking in a doorway. It was the “Gasman” and “Bull’s-eye,” and not far off stood an automobile, to which the old man pointed with the question: “It’s yours, that contraption yonder?” “Yes,” replied the “Gasman,” “that’s to say it’s a pal’s machine; we chose him because he’s as silent as the tomb, and don’t have no eyes in the back of his head; he’ll do what he’s told—asks three louis for his night.” “All serene!” declared Moche, rubbing his hands. “Now listen to me, you chaps; keep an eye on the shanty I’ve come out of, and when I show my hat out of the window, you must come along softly, the pigeon’ll be asleep. The pigeon’s mate’ll go with you and no fuss, you may rely on that. As you drive on, best clap on the cords and the gag; you might be interrupted, and it must all be shipshape, just to avoid accidents. Twig?” “Right oh!” sang out “Bull’s-eye” and the “Gasman” in chorus. Moche, in generous mood, handed over to each of them a fifty franc note: “You see,” he pointed out, “I always pay well.” “Yes,” growled “Bull’s-eye,” “that ain’t like Fantômas, that ain’t! Didn’t I give him a hand in that there lake business, when he cleared off with the princess’s jewelry. Well, if I’ve made a brown or two out of it, that’s about all—just because he didn’t see me at work. I’m thinking if Fantômas don’t fork out ...” “All serene,” Père Moche interrupted his grumblings “there’s no question of Fantômas for the moment. Be smart, be ready ... I’m going up there again.” At the door of the private room, the old man, resuming his former rôle, gave a discreet tap, saying with a laugh: “Why, what now?... so you’ve locked yourself in, eh? a little joke, for sure?... but no more nonsense now! Come, come, open the door. Do be serious a bit ... and then you know, I’m still thirsty, I want to finish out the bottle!” Then he stopped talking to listen. Not a sound came from inside and the old fellow was growing impatient. He knocked twice, sharply and peremptorily. At last the door opened, and Nini appeared, her hair flying loose and her clothes in disorder. “What a time he’s been giving me!” she whispered grinning, “a devil of a fellow, my dear man!” But Moche was in no joking mood; he demanded: “And now?” “Now,” Nini proceeded, still speaking under her breath; but opening the door a little wider, so that Moche could slip into the room, which was still in darkness, “now he’s snoring like a good ’un! suppose it’s the powder you tipped into his champagne; I bet he’s good to sleep on till to-morrow morning, come what may.”